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WAVERLEY
spectator, the success of her brother’s undertaking, or the ruin
of all his hopes and fortunes? Or, on the other hand, to engage
himself, with no other aid than his single arm, in the dangerous and precipitate counsels of the Chieftain, to be whirled
along by him, the partaker of all his desperate and impetuous
motions, renouncing almost the power of judging, or deciding
upon the rectitude or prudence of his actions, this was no
pleasing prospect for the secret pride of Waverley to stoop to.
And yet what other conclusion remained, saving the rejection
of his addresses by Flora, an alternative not to be thought of in
the present high-wrought state of his feelings with anything
short of mental agony. Pondering the doubtful and dangerous
prospect before him, he at length arrived near the cascade,
where, as Fergus had augured, he found Flora seated.
She was quite alone, and as soon as she observed his ap-
proach she rose and came to meet him. Edward attempted to
say something within the verge of ordinary compliment and
conversation, but found himself unequal to the task. Flora
seemed at fi rst equally embarrassed, but recovered herself
more speedily, and (an unfavourable augury for Waverley’s
suit) was the fi rst to enter upon the subject of their last interview. “It is too important, in every point of view, Mr. Waverley, to permit me to leave you in doubt on my sentiments.”
“Do not speak them speedily,” said Waverley, much agi-
tated, “unless they are such as I fear, from your manner, I must
not dare to anticipate. Let time – let my future conduct – let
your brother’s infl uence – ”
“Forgive me, Mr. Waverley,” said Flora, her complexion a
little heightened, but her voice fi rm and composed. “I should
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WALTER SCOTT
incur my own heavy censure did I delay expressing my sincere
conviction that I can never regard you otherwise than as a
valued friend. I should do you the highest injustice did I conceal my sentiments for a moment. I see I distress you, and
I grieve for it, but better now than later; and O, better a thousand times, Mr. Waverley, that you should feel a present momentary disappointment than the long and heart-sickening
griefs which attend a rash and ill-assorted marriage!”
“Good God!” exclaimed Waverley, “why should you antici-
pate such consequences from a union where birth is equal,
where fortune is favourable, where, if I may venture to say so,
the tastes are similar, where you allege no preference for another, where you even express a favourable opinion of him
whom you reject?”
“Mr. Waverley, I HAVE that favourable opinion,” answered
Flora; “and so strongly that, though I would rather have been
silent on the grounds of my resolution, you shall command
them, if you exact such a mark of my esteem and confi dence.”
She sat down upon a fragment of rock, and Waverley, plac-
ing himself near her, anxiously pressed for the explanation
she offered.
“I dare hardly,” she said, “tell you the situation of my feel-
ings, they are so different from those usually ascribed to young
women at my period of life; and I dare hardly touch upon
what I conjecture to be the nature of yours, lest I should give
offence where I would willingly administer consolation. For
myself, from my infancy till this day I have had but one
wish – the restoration of my royal benefactors to their rightful throne. It is impossible to express to you the devotion of
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WAVERLEY
my feelings to this single subject; and I will frankly confess
that it has so occupied my mind as to exclude every thought
respecting what is called my own settlement in life. Let me
but live to see the day of that happy restoration, and a Highland cottage, a French convent, or an English palace will be
alike indifferent to me.”
“But, dearest Flora, how is your enthusiastic zeal for the
exiled family inconsistent with my happiness?”
“Because you seek, or ought to seek, in the object of your
attachment a heart whose principal delight should be in augmenting your domestic felicity and returning your affection,
even to the height of romance. To a man of less keen sensibility, and less enthusiastic tenderness of disposition, Flora MacIvor might give content, if not happiness; for, were the irrevocable words spoken, never would she be defi cient in the duties
which she vowed.”
“And why, – why, Miss Mac-Ivor, should you think your-
self a more valuable treasure to one who is less capable of loving, of admiring you, than to me?”
“Simply because the tone of our affections would be more
in unison, and because his more blunted sensibility would
not require the return of enthusiasm which I have not to bestow. But you, Mr. Waverley, would for ever refer to the idea of
domestic happiness which your imagination is capable of
painting, and whatever fell short of that ideal representation
would be construed into coolness and indifference, while you
might consider the enthusiasm with which I regarded the success of the royal family as defrauding your affection of its due
return.”
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WALTER SCOTT
“In other words, Miss Mac-Ivor, you cannot love me?” said
her suitor dejectedly.
“I could esteem you, Mr. Waverley, as much, perhaps more,
than any man I have ever seen; but I cannot love you as you
ought to be loved. O! do not, for your own sake, desire so hazardous an experiment! The woman whom you marry ought to
have affections and opinions moulded upon yours. Her studies ought to be your studies; her wishes, her feelings, her
hopes, her fears, should all mingle with yours. She should enhance your pleasures, share your sorrows, and cheer your
melancholy.”
“And why will not you, Miss Mac-Ivor, who can so well de-
scribe a happy union, why will not you be yourself the person
you describe?”
“Is it possible you do not yet comprehend me?” answered
Flora. “Have I not told you that every keener sensation of my
mind is bent exclusively towards an event upon which, indeed, I have no power but those of my earnest prayers?”
“And might not the granting the suit I solicit,” said Wa-
verley, too earnest on his purpose to consider what he was
about to say, “even advance the interest to which you have
devoted yourself? My family is wealthy and powerful, inclined in principles to the Stuart race, and should a favourable opportunity – ”
“A favourable opportunity!” said Flora – somewhat scorn-
fully. “Inclined in principles! Can such lukewarm adherence
be honourable to yourselves, or gratifying to your lawful sovereign? Think, from my present feelings, what I should suffer
when I held the place of member in a family where the rights
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WAVERLEY
which I hold most sacred are subjected to cold discussion, and
only deemed worthy of support when they shall appear on
the point of triumphing without it!”
“Your doubts,” quickly replied Waverley, “are unjust as far
as concerns myself. The cause that I shall assert, I dare support
through every danger, as undauntedly as the boldest who
draws sword in its behalf.”
“Of that,” answered Flora, “I cannot doubt for a moment.
But consult your own good sense and reason rather than a
prepossession hastily adopted, probably only because you
have met a young woman possessed of the usual accomplishments in a sequestered and romantic situation. Let your part
in this great and perilous drama rest upon conviction, and not
on a hurried and probably a temporary feeling.”
Waverley attempted to reply, but his words failed him. Ev-
ery sentiment that Flora had uttered vindicated the strength
of his attachment; for even her loyalty, although wildly enthusiastic, was generous and noble, and disdained to avail itself of any indirect means of supporting the cause to which
she was devoted.
After walking a little way in silence down the path, Flora
thus resumed the conversation. – “One word more, Mr. Waverley, ere we bid farewell to this topic for ever; and forgive
my boldness if that word have the air of advice. My brother
Fergus is anxious that you should join him in his present enterprise. But do not consent to this; you could not, by your
single exertions, further his success, and you would inevitably
share his fall, if it be God’s pleasure that fall he must. Your
character would also suffer irretrievably. Let me beg you will
255
WALTER SCOTT
return to your own country; and, having publicly freed yourself from every tie to the usurping government, I trust you
will see cause, and fi nd opportunity, to serve your injured sovereign with effect, and stand forth, as your loyal ancestors, at
the head of your natural followers and adherents, a worthy
representative of the house of Waverley.”
“And should I be so happy as thus to distinguish myself,
might I not hope – ”
“Forgive my interruption,” said Flora. “The present time
only is ours, and I can but explain to you with candour the
feelings which I now entertain; how they might be altered by
a train of events too favourable perhaps to be hoped for, it
were in vain even to conjecture. Only be assured, Mr. Waverley, that, after my brother’s honour and happiness, there is
none which I shall more sincerely pray for than for yours.”
With these words she parted from him, for they were now
arrived where two paths separated. Waverley reached the castle amidst a medley of confl icting passions. He avoided any
private interview with Fergus, as he did not fi nd himself able
either to encounter his raillery or reply to his solicitations.
The wild revelry of the feast, for Mac-Ivor kept open table for
his clan, served in some degree to stun refl ection. When their
festivity was ended, he began to consider how he should again
meet Miss Mac-Ivor after the painful and interesting explanation of the morning. But Flora did not appear. Fergus, whose
eyes fl ashed when he was told by Cathleen that her mistress
designed to keep her apartment that evening, went himself in
quest of her; but apparently his remonstrances were in vain,
for he returned with a heightened complexion and manifest
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WAVERLEY
symptoms of displeasure. The rest of the evening passed on
without any allusion, on the part either of Fergus or Waverley, to the subject which engrossed the refl ections of the latter, and perhaps of both.
When retired to his own apartment, Edward endeavoured
to sum up the business of the day. That the repulse he had received from Flora would be persisted in for the present, there
was no doubt. But could he hope for ultimate success in case
circumstances permitted the renewal of his suit? Would the
enthusiastic loyalty, which at this animating moment left no
room for a softer passion, survive, at least in its engrossing
force, the success or the failure of the present political machinations? And if so, could he hope that the interest which she
had acknowledged him to possess in her favour might be improved into a warmer attachment? He taxed his memory to
recall every word she had used, with the appropriate looks
and gestures which had enforced them, and ended by fi nding
himself in the same state of uncertainty. It was very late before
sleep brought relief to the tumult of his mind, after the most
painful and agitating day which he had ever passed.
CHAPTER XXVIII
A LETTER FROM TULLY-VEOLAN
In the morning, when Waverley’s troubled refl ections had
for some time given way to repose, there came music to his
dreams, but not the voice of Selma. He imagined himself
transported back to Tully-Veolan, and that he heard Davie
Gellatley singing in the court those matins which used generally to be the fi rst sounds that disturbed his repose while a
guest of the Baron of Bradwardine. The notes which suggested
this vision continued, and waxed louder, until Edward awoke
in earnest. The illusion, however, did not seem entirely dispelled. The apartment was in the fortress of Ian nan Chaistel,
but it was still the voice of Davie Gellatley that made the following lines resound under the window: –
My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.
Curious to know what could have determined Mr. Gellat-
ley on an excursion of such unwonted extent, Edward began
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WAVERLEY
to dress himself in all haste, during which operation the minstrelsy of Davie changed its tune more than once: –
There’s nought in the Highlands but syboes and leeks,
And lang-leggit callants gaun wanting the breeks,
Wanting the breeks, and without hose and shoon,
But we’ll a’win the breeks when King Jamie comes hame.
By the time Waverley was dressed and had issued forth,
David had associated himself with two or three of the numerous Highland loungers who always graced the gates of the
castle with their presence, and was capering and dancing full
merrily in the doubles and full career of a Scotch foursome
reel, to the music of his own whistling. In this double capacity
of dancer and musician he continued, until an idle piper, who
observed his zeal, obeyed the unanimous call of seid suas (i.e.
blow up), and relieved him from the latter part of his trouble.
Young and old then mingled in the dance as they could fi nd
partners. The appearance of Waverley did not interrupt David’s exercise, though he contrived, by grinning, nodding, and
throwing one or two inclinations of the body into the graces
with which he performed the Highland fl ing, to convey to our
hero symptoms of recognition. Then, while busily employed
in setting, whooping all the while, and snapping his fi ngers
over his head, he of a sudden prolonged his side-step until it
brought him to the place where Edward was standing, and,
still keeping time to the music like Harlequin in a pantomime,
he thrust a letter into our hero’s hand, and continued his saltation without pause or intermission. Edward, who perceived
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WALTER SCOTT
that the address was in Rose’s hand-writing, retired to peruse
it, leaving the faithful bearer to continue his exercise until
the piper or he should be tired out.
The contents of the letter greatly surprised him. It had
originally commenced with “Dear Sir”; but these words had
been carefully erased, and the monosyllable “Sir” substituted
in their place. The rest of the contents shall be given in Rose’s
own language.
I fear I am using an improper freedom by intruding upon you, yet I cannot trust to any one else to let
you know some things which have happened here,
with which it seems necessary you should be acquainted. Forgive me, if I am wrong in what I am doing; for,
alas! Mr. Waverley, I have no better advice than that
of my own feelings; my dear father is gone from this
place, and when he can return to my assistance and
protection, God alone knows. You have probably
heard that, in consequence of some troublesome news
from the Highlands, warrants were sent out for apprehending several gentlemen in these parts, and,
among others, my dear father. In spite of all my tears
and entreaties that he would surrender himself to the
government, he joined with Mr. Falconer and some
other gentlemen, and they have all gone northwards,
with a body of about forty horsemen. So I am not so
anxious concerning his immediate safety as about
what may follow afterwards, for these troubles are
only beginning. But all this is nothing to you, Mr. Wa-
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